The Hidden Diamond
by CelticLily
Summary: A short murder mystery. A farmer comes to Sherlock asking for help after a crime involving a painting and his friend's stable hand.


**I wrote this as GCSE English coursework last year. We had to write in the style of someone, and since I had recently discovered the amazingness of Sherlock Holmes, I decided I might as well try that!  
It turned out to be a lot harder than I expected to write a murder mystery, but hopefully there aren't any plot holes and it isn't too contrived! I have proof-read it a few times, but if you notice anything that doesn't make sense tell me in a review and I'll try to fix it!**

**I do not own Sherlock Holmes (obviously...)**

* * *

It was one morning, not long after the incident of the dancing men, that Holmes and I were seated at the breakfast table. I was polishing my shoes, and my companion was studying the newspaper. After a minute, he folded the paper, glanced at the clock, and said casually,

"I observe that you and your friend are having lunch at the club today. I would be very much obliged if you would do me the favour of cutting your meeting short in order to be back here by two. You see, I have an appointment with a client at that time, and I believe it will be of some interest."

I could not help but notice the slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he beheld my reaction to his words.

"My dear Holmes, you never cease to astound me!" I exclaimed, to his evident satisfaction. "I must admit that, familiar as I am with your methods, I cannot begin to comprehend how you could have deduced my whole day's activities!"

"Then perhaps this will make it a little clearer to you, although I fear that my explanations do not do me justice! One- you are shining your shoes. Inference- you are going out to a place of some importance to you, otherwise you would not bother. Two- you have eaten very little of your breakfast, which I must say, Watson, is most unlike you. Inference- you are expecting a large lunch and do not want your appetite to be spoiled. Three- I recall that you mentioned last week an old friend of yours was coming to London on business and you were hoping to meet up with him during his stay. It stands to reason, therefore, that you are going out to lunch with your friend."

"I understand, although how you deduce so much in the blink of an eye is beyond me!" I replied as I left the house.

When I returned, a little before two, my companion was still seated in the exact position that he had been in at the time of my departure.

"I trust your meal went well?" He enquired, and I assured him that I had found it very enjoyable.

There was a ring at the door.

"Ah," said Holmes, "I believe that is the client of whom I spoke earlier."

Sure enough, as he finished speaking, a jovial, round-faced man knocked and strolled into the room. He was easily six feet tall but had around him such an air of benevolence that his overwhelming height did not seem unduly alarming.

"Good, day, gentlemen," He said. I nodded my greeting, and Holmes answered, "Good day to you to, sir. And may I ask what manner of problem it is that induces a farmer, happily married with a daughter and two dogs, to come all the way down from Cheshire in order to visit me?"

For a second, at this unusual welcome, I fancied that I saw a shadow pass over the man's face, and his eyes dart to the door. I glanced at my companion, but his face remained impassive and I could not discover whether he had also seen it, or whether it had been, in fact, a mere figment of my imagination.

"I was not aware of having told you so much about myself in the telegram", the man said, a mild tone of enquiry in his deep voice.

Holmes smiled.

"Forgive me," he replied. "I am by now so accustomed to observing and deducing that it happens without my even thinking. Alas, it seems to draw no little consternation from the objects of my studies!"

At this explanation the man's countenance lightened somewhat.

"I had heard you were a remarkable man, Mr Holmes. I am Edward Devlin, and I will gladly tell you why I am here, but first I am rather curious as to exactly how you found out so much about me!"

"Well," said my friend, "To start with, I observed the discolouring and scrape marks around the base of your boots, and I also detected traces of sheep's wool on your jacket. My deduction was that you must often walk long distances over muddy ground and work closely with sheep. You have a Cheshire accent, so most likely you are a sheep farmer from Cheshire. Second, as well as sheep wool, I noticed two colours and lengths of dog's fur lying on your clothes. The short, brown fur is only found upon your trousers, while the long black and white fur is on both your trousers and your jacket, implying that you have two dogs of different sizes and types, one of which is a border collie. As for your wife and daughter, it is evident that before you left someone tried to brush the fur and mud off of you, and your clothes are well cared for. Therefore you have a loving wife. It was quite simple to see that you have a young daughter due to the small doll's arm I perceived sticking out of your pocket as you came in. No doubt the doll is a gift for her when you get back."

Edward stared for a while in astonishment at this rather bewildering revelation, then gave a loud, hearty laugh.

"Capital!" He exclaimed. "Absolutely marvellous! I see now that I have come to the right man, Mr Holmes. At first, I must admit, I had some doubts, but now I am sure!" He chuckled, and then said, "As I promised, I shall now get down to the affair at hand. A fortnight ago, my friend left to visit a relative in Wales for a fortnight. He left his stable hand to look after his house, but he asked me to call in on them every so often to check that all was well. Three days ago, the evening before my friend's return, I was coming back from my evening walk, (as it is my habit during summer to take a short constitutional after work), when I saw a shadowy figure stealing across my friend's lawn, carrying something large and square. I called out, and he broke into a run. I gave chase, and soon succeeded in catching him up, as the object was heavy and cumbersome. Somehow, he drew a knife, and I saw that I was in danger, so I stepped back and drew my pistol. The man lunged forwards, foolishly hoping to stab me before I could shoot, and I shot him. When I looked at the body, I saw that it was my friend's young stable-hand, and that the object was an expensive painting from the house.

"I left the picture where he dropped it, for I had some idea that it would prove useful to any investigation. I ran home and asked my wife to telegram the police. She did as I asked, but was frightened that I might be punished for murdering the fellow. That is part of the reason that I came to you, Mr Holmes. I heard from an acquaintance that you had helped his brother out of a situation in which he was wrongly accused, and I hoped that you might do the same for me if it gets out of hand. The other reason is that the police haven't made much progress, and my friend is anxious, since yesterday whoever was going to buy the painting left a threat pinned to his wall."

Holmes had listened to the account with his eyes closed and his hands clasped, but now he sat up. "And do you know what this threat said?" He asked.

"I have it here in my pocket, if you would care to read it."

He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small piece of paper. It read: "By preventing me from getting this painting, you have put yourself at risk. If you value your life, drop the painting off in the cave in the forest at midnight. Do not bring anyone else. You have three days." That meant the painting was due at the collection point that very night.

My friend studied the note with great concentration and interest.

"Although this writing holds no clue for me, other than that whoever wrote it was a man in approximately his thirty-fifth year, I don't believe the case is hopeless. Indeed, I already have a great many plausible theories concerning it, and many more implausible, though not impossible, ones. Watson, is there a train to Cheshire this hour? Good. We shall make our way there presently, and see if we can't find out the real reason and perpetrator of this crime."

Three hours later, we found ourselves at the scene of the crime. The house was a large cottage with stables at the rear. The lawn on which the thief had been lying was about the size of a large cornfield, and, much to Holmes' dismay, the grass had been trampled by so many feet that it seemed impossible to tell the prints of one man from the others. Nevertheless, he was soon raking the ground, head bent, at times taking a tape-measure from his inner pocket to compare the sizes of two imprints. I watched admiringly until he finally snapped the tape-measure shut and walked back to where Edward and I were standing. His eyes were glimmering with enthusiasm as he said,

"I must say I was not sure that even someone as skilled as I in indentifying prints would be able to make sense of that awful mess the police left. However I am very glad to say that I have found something of no little importance."

Edward frowned slightly, apparently in confusion that any mortal could see order in the chaos of the footprints, and my friend revealed no more. I knew that he would explain when ready, but Edward seemed a little impatient as we went back to the house where his friend, Henry Salisbury, was waiting.

If Henry and Edward were expecting an explanation of Holmes' discovery, they had none. My friend simply looked at the space in the hall that the painting had been taken from, and proceeded to scrutinize the wall and floor. After a short time he straightened from where he had been kneeling on the floor, and asked to see the body of the young man who had been shot.

We were taken by a young police officer to the man's living quarters, where he had been laid out on the floor. Edward and his companion had stayed behind at the house.

"Tell me, Watson," He murmured after carefully examining the body "What do you make of the man's injuries?"

I looked at the mess of blood around the man's chest.

"He was shot at close range by an ordinary bullet," I answered, "Which certainly fits with the report so far."

"Perhaps, but look closer; there should be more blood than this from such a wound."

I did as he suggested, and immediately realised what I had earlier missed.

"That shot was fired after the man's death!" I exclaimed. "Then what could have killed him?"

"See the blood on the back of the man's clothes? This man was shot from a distance in the back. That is what killed him. The second shot must have been a cover, to make it seem like the bullet entered at the front."

"But why would Edward have lied about such a thing?" I couldn't help asking. Holmes said nothing, but I could see from his manner that he already had some idea.

That evening, as we sat in the guest room that Henry had kindly spared for us, Holmes spoke for the first time in over five hours. Before retiring to our room, he had advised Henry to do as the note asked. Now he jumped up in barely contained excitement.

"I believe I know who the culprit of this crime is, Watson, and I have a plan to catch the scoundrel too!" He said. "But I require your help. I won't lie, Watson, it could be dangerous, so if you agree to help me I advise that you bring your gun."

"Of course I will assist you in any way you need, my dear Holmes. Am I not your faithful companion in all such matters?"

He walked to the window and pointed at a figure crossing the lawn.

"Then there is the man we must follow tonight," He said.

We trailed through the dark, damp forest for what seemed like hours until finally Holmes grabbed my arm, pulling me back. We continued a little further as quietly as possible, then stopped. By now, Henry had dropped the painting off and started on his return. After a few minutes, there was a scuffling in the bushes next to the mouth of the cave and a man emerged. In the dim light cast by the moon, I could see nothing of his features. Holmes had detailed the plan to me as we walked, and now I tensed, ready for action.

At a nod from my companion, a little way away now in the undergrowth to my right, we both sprang forward, cornering the man. He dropped the painting and ran into the cave. Holmes gave chase, running with the sudden burst of inhuman speed that I had seen once before from him, when chasing the Hound of the Baskervilles. I followed more slowly; the cave was pitch black and I did not want to lose my footing. At the back of the cavern it narrowed into a passage. I followed it along, knowing that I would catch up with them eventually.

After travelling about three miles, the tunnel ended abruptly, in a cellar. I hurriedly climbed the stairs and ran out into Henry's hallway. At the end of it I saw my friend grappling with the man so I ran to help. Together we subdued him, and in the light from the gas lamps, saw that it was none other than Edward Devlin. I stood back in shock, and Holmes bundled him into Henry's kitchen before sending me to fetch the police who were staying at the village inn. When I returned with them, Edward was handcuffed to the table, with my friend sitting calmly opposite him.

"I owe you all an explanation," said Holmes, "Especially you Watson, who are so patient with my schemes."

We were all sat around Henry's sitting room. Edward was handcuffed and held by one of the policemen so that he couldn't escape.

"I found this case to be rather interesting," began my companion. "At first it seemed somewhat straight forward- the young stable hand had waited until his master was away, and then stolen the painting in order to sell it for money. However, I had my first clue that Mister Devlin's story was hiding something when I saw the tracks in the lawn. I must say, constables, that it is a poor police man who allows footprints to be so corrupted during the investigation. Despite the considerable difficulty of the task, due to the terrible state the lawn was in, I succeeded in identifying the two important tracks. These showed me that the stable hand had not in fact come from the house, but from his own quarters. He then started to re-trace his back steps towards his dwelling, running this time. Meanwhile, someone else had come from the house, paused for a second, and continued towards the stable hand where he stopped for a while. This person then ran off towards the road. From this I deduced that the Edward had not been telling the truth about having seen him from the road- Edward must have been the man coming from the house.

The body confirmed my suspicions- the young man had been shot twice. Once at a long distance, in the back; this was the shot that had killed him, and corresponded with the pause just outside the house. The second was the more obvious one, purposely done from short range just after the man's death in order to disguise the first.

I reasoned that Edward had been in the house for some reason, and the stable hand had seen him and come to see what was going on. Seeing that the man had a gun pointed at him, he turned and ran but did not get far before being killed.

I had already examined the wall the painting had been on by this time, and I had observed that there was a slight indentation behind one of them. From this I induced that there was a secret compartment in the frame that stuck out a very small way. Although I did not know what was in the compartment, I assumed that it was the reason for the theft.

I did not have the chance to examine the painting myself until later, but when I did I found the two pieces of information that allowed me to fully form my theory. One was that the painting was not blood-stained. From the amount of blood on the body, you would expect anything it had held to be covered in blood. Therefore, the painting was placed there after the time of death, most likely by Edward after the second shot.

My second discovery was that there was indeed a compartment in the painting. I did not attempt to open it as I feared that it would scare Edward away from collecting the painting that night."

Holmes walked over to where the work of art was propped against the wall and brought it back to the table. Turning it over, he said,

"If you care to observe..." He ran his fingers down the side of the frame and then, to our amazement, slid back a hidden panel. Inside the compartment was a large diamond, as big as my thumbnail.

Continuing his narrative, he said,

"I formed a plan to catch the thief at the cave where Henry left the painting. Dr Watson and I followed Henry through the forest, then hid in the trees and waited. When the criminal appeared to take it, we jumped out. Unfortunately I did not realise that the cave was the mouth of a passage leading back to this very house. Edward panicked when he saw us and fled, perhaps hoping to feign innocence when we got back to the house. However, I caught up with him before he could do so, and together Dr Watson and I subdued him."

Edward, who had been staring despondently at the floor throughout this account, now looked up as my friend addressed him directly.

"There are two things, however, that I failed to find out. One was how you knew about the diamond when Henry did not, and the other was why you were so desperate for it that you would murder to keep it. Would you care to tell us?"

Edward sighed hopelessly.

"I suppose that I don't have a choice, then. But please understand, I did it for my family!

"I heard about the hidden stone from a friend, a few years ago, before Henry moved here. I did not intend to go looking for it, but when I saw the picture I realised that it was the one described in the story. Even then I did not think to steal it, but recently my family has fallen on hard times. There is not much money in sheep farming, you see. I tried to hide it from them as I did not want to worry them, but I could not bear the thought that my daughter might go hungry if it didn't improve. That is why I stole it. However, I did not mean to kill the stable hand, if you'll believe me. I saw him coming towards me and I panicked, thinking that he was a policeman. When I realised what I had done, I knew that I had to come up with a way to explain it to the police, or I would be arrested and my daughter would grow up ashamed of her father."

"But why did you go to Mr Holmes?" asked one of the policemen.

"I had hoped to draw suspicion away from myself by going to him. I thought my plan foolproof enough that no-one would see through it, but I severely underestimated the ability of Mr Holmes, for which I have been punished."

Eventually the questioning was over, and Edward was taken to the local police station to await judgement.

"I must say, I am surprised that such a friendly man could have turned out a criminal," I said as Holmes and I left the house. He looked at me.

"You know as well as I, Watson, that the nicest-seeming people are not necessarily good. Although I do hope that he is not judged too harshly- I don't believe that he ever intended to kill, or even steal the painting. It is most likely that, had his plan gone well, he would have returned the painting after taking the diamond from it. Now let us not tarry, Watson. If we hurry to the station, we shall catch the 10 O'clock to London, and we shall be home in time for lunch!"

* * *

**It isn't very long, but for the actual coursework I was only supposed to write the opening- I just wrote the rest because it was fun. Please tell me what you think!**


End file.
